we rode to the end of the world
by fagur fiskur
Summary: The tale of two men who, after committing suicide, manage to find each other in the afterlife. An unconventional love story. K/B. WARNINGS: Explicit suicidal themes, violence and sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N****: **This is a story set in the afterlife. Suicide is explicitly discussed, shown and even made fun of (I have a really dark sense of humor). If that is in any way triggering to you, I suggest skipping this one. Also, so you're all properly warned, there will be no happy ending for this one. The ending will be bittersweet and a bit hopeful, at best.

The title is taken and translated from the lyrics to Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása by Sigur Rós. I'd recommend you rather listen to Vaka by Sigur Rós while reading this first chapter, though.

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><p><strong>we rode to the end of the world<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Here is how it ends<em>

A man lies bleeding in his bathtub. Outside the bathroom door, his apartment is in disarray, broken furniture scattered across the floor. There is stillness in the air. The man sighs, his eyelids fluttering as his life drains from him. He utters one word, his last word on this earth, heard by no one:

"Shit."

It turns out he forgot to write a suicide note.

_Here is how it begins_

_(again)_

First there is darkness. Then there is light.

And then there is me.

I wake up feeling remarkably well, considering I just took a razorblade to my wrists. There is light burning my eyes, but it doesn't feel unpleasant. It's just sort of there. Am I dead? Or am I at the hospital? I honestly don't know which I'd prefer.

I open my eyes to a clear blue sky above me. Not at the hospital, then. The surface I'm lying on doesn't feel like a mattress, anyway. It feels more like... sand?

Yes, sand. Feels wet, too.

I sit up. It seems like I should be in pain, having just tried to kill myself and all. Maybe I really am dead?

I glance down at my hands and do a double take when I see them soaked in blood. My blood. There are two gaping wounds on my wrists, still bleeding profusely. It's strange, because it doesn't feel like they're bleeding. They're wet and a little sticky, but the cuts don't hurt.

Am I dead? Am I dreaming?

I look up. There's nothing but black sand and blue sky, stretching endlessly towards the horizon. How did I get out into the dessert?

I've got so many questions, but it doesn't look like there's anyone around to answer them. I might as well have a look around.

My legs shake when I stand up, but I manage to keep my balance. I'm wearing the same clothes as before. My work shirt, the sleeves rolled up. A pair of comfortable jeans. No shoes, no socks. Not exactly the best hiking clothes and it seems like I'm going to be walking for a while. I don't have any water either. Whether I wanted to die or not, collapsing due to dehydration in the middle of a dessert does not sound appealing to me.

Better start walking, then.

_Serendipity_

Step.

Step.

Slip.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Slip.

Collapse.

Stand.

Step.

Step.

I feel like Moses. But worse. At least he had company. At least he had the sun to guide him - despite it being bright as day out here, there's no sun in sight. I can't even tell how long I've been walking. Feels like years.

Step.

Step.

Step.

It's becoming abundantly clear to me that I don't have to worry about dehydration. No matter how long I walk, I don't get thirsty, or hungry, or even tired. It's infuriating.

Step.

Step.

Slip.

Step.

Terribly painful death might be preferable to this. There's nothing out here, nothing but sand and sky and more fucking sand and-

A shadow?

I start running. As I get closer, I can see it's more than a shadow. It's a man laying down.

Another person! I feel like falling on my knees and thanking... someone. God, I guess.

God, thank you for cutting me break. Even if it turns out to be just a hallucination.

I finally reach the man in the sand, and he is no hallucination. He looks to be about the same age as me, possibly a few years younger, and he's wearing what looks like funeral attire.

His skin is also deathly pale and his lips blue. His chest isn't moving.

I sit down next to him, my eyes filling with tears of frustration. It's not fair. Why should this man get to die and I don't? I don't even feel guilty for envying this person who probably never wanted to die in the first place. Any fate is better than this.

A morbid idea strikes me, one that I probably would never have followed through if I wasn't so desperate for company. But I really, really am, so I bend over the dead man and give him a kiss. He feels cold to the touch, not that it's unexpected.

The knee to my stomach is, however.

I reel backwards, the wind knocked out of me. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but I'm shocked enough. The dead man has sat up and opened his eyes, and he's glaring at me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He hisses.

I blink, stunned. "Um. I was... kissing you?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"To see if you'd wake up?" I continue, feeling more idiotic by the word. "You know, like Sleeping Beauty?"

"I wasn't sleeping," the man says through clenched teeth. "I was trying to die."

Alright, so he _did _want to die. The thought makes me strangely sad, considering what got me into this situation.

"It did look like you were succeeding," I point out. The shock is wearing off and I'm almost grinning. "For what it's worth."

"I wasn't," the man sighs, brushing sand off his jacket. "I've been here for hours, but I don't feel any deader."

"Oh." I try not to look too happy, but it's a real effort. The relief at finding another living person out here is too great. "Do you want to come walking with me, then?"

The man eyes me warily and I do my best to look friendly. "I might as well. There doesn't seem to be anything else to do around here."

"I'm Blaine, by the way," I say and extend my hand in greeting, practically thrumming with excitement. The words _Another living person! Another living person who wants me around! _are blaring through my mind. "Blaine Anderson."

The man stares at my offered hand. "Do you know you're bleeding?"

I draw my hand back with a sheepish smile. "I'd forgotten. It's been a few hours."

The man stumbles to his feet, shaking his head when I step forward to help him. "Don't you have anything to use as a bandage?"

I hesitate. The thought hadn't occurred to me.

The man sighs again. "Come here."

He doesn't wait for me to comply, but steps closer and grabs my left arm. With an apologetic look he rips off the sleeve of my shirt. "It was ruined anyway."

I nod dumbly. I honestly don't care about the state of my clothes right now. The man rips the sleeve in two and wraps one strip of cloth around my left wrist. The other goes around my right.

While he works, I stare unashamedly at his face, drinking in the sight with all the fervor of a man dying of thirst. The Sleeping Beauty comparison was very apt- this man is probably the most beautiful person I've ever seen. His deathly pale skin only serves to make him look more ethereal.

"Done," the man mutters, looking up just in time to catch me staring at him. He drops my hand but doesn't comment on it. "This should tide you over until we find a way out of here. I hope."

Those last words make my heart drop to my stomach. Even if I did manage to find another person, I'm still no closer to finding out where I am, how I got here or how to get out. It's disheartening to say the least. There will be another pair of feet making the trek, but it will still be the same rhythm of _step, step, slip_ as it was before.

"Are you coming?"

I'm snapped out of my thoughts. The stranger is walking away already, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I give myself a moment to appreciate the sight. I'm in no hurry to be left behind, however, so I quickly run after him.

"What's your name?" I ask when I've caught up to him.

The man doesn't even glance my way, but keeps his eyes trained ahead on the horizon. "Kurt."


	2. Chapter 2

__**A/N: **There's a new poll over at my profile page. Please go check it out! For this chapter, I recommend listening to Samskeyti by Sigur Rós. It helps set the mood.

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><p><em>On the road again  Getting to know you_

"Kurt?"

I feel a bit nervous in addressing him, considering how pissed off he looks. Kurt hasn't said one word since we started walking, or even so much as looked my way. He keeps up a determined stride and keeps his eyes locked forward. It's almost as boring as when I was alone.

"Kurt?"

He halts suddenly. "What?"

I lift my arms helplessly. The two strips of cloth tied around my wrists have come loose and there's once again fresh blood trailing down my biceps. "I can't really tighten them properly myself."

Kurt is clearly annoyed with me, though for what reason I can't comprehend. "Hold your hands out, then."

I do, and he fixes my bandages. I can't help but notice how cool his skin is. It'd almost have me worried, if I wasn't supposed to be dead of blood loss myself a long time ago.

"How did this happen, anyway?" He asks once he's done.

I grimace. "I, um, I did it. To myself."

Kurt nods in understanding. "I overdosed on sleeping pills," he tells me.

I don't know what to say to that.

* * *

><p>Step.<p>

Step.

"I like your clothes."

Step.

Step.

"I said-"

"I heard you."

Step.

Step.

Step.

"Those jeans are hideous."

"They're comfy!"

"They're _stonewashed_."

Step.

Step.

Step.

"_And I would walk five-hundred miles, and I would walk-_"

"What are you doing?"

"Singing? Our walking was really rhythmic, so I thought I'd... sorry. I'll stop."

"...no, it's fine. You have a lovely voice."

Step.

Step.

"_And I would walk five-hundred more-_"

* * *

><p>We eventually decide to take a break from walking. We may not get tired but that doesn't stop us from getting bored.<p>

We both sit down in the sand, although Kurt seems kind of reluctant about it. I get the feeling he cares a lot more about his clothes than I do, even if that doesn't do much good out here.

"Where did you learn to sing like that?"

I grab a fistful of sand and let it trickle on my bare feet. "I was in my high school glee club for a while."

Kurt snorts and I look up.

"It's a weird coincidence," he explains. "I was in my school glee club, too."

I grin. "Sing something."

"What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know." I draw my knees in close and rest my chin on them. "Something beautiful."

Kurt clears his throat and launches into an acappella version of _Blackbird_. His voice, while bright while he talks, sounds almost eerie now. It really is beautiful.

While he sings the last note, Kurt falters and he immediately quiets. He takes a deep shuddering breath and stands up again.

"We should keep walking."

I sigh. "You're right."

For a moment there, I'd almost forgotten about our situation.

* * *

><p>We haven't been walking for too long when I get the urge to start talking again.<p>

"We should get to know each other better," I say, feeling a bit stupid once the words are out. Nothing about Kurt's demeanor so far suggests he wants to have anything to do with me. "I mean- while we're stuck out here."

"That's a good idea."

I almost trip over my own feet in surprise. "It- it is?"

Kurt nods. "What did you have in mind, exactly?"

"Well, um," I mumble. "A twenty question game of sorts? We each get twenty questions to ask each other and we must answer honestly."

"Sounds very middle-school," Kurt says but he's grinning, so I assume he's teasing. "You start."

I eye Kurt for a moment. "I'm going to be boring and ask how old you are."

Kurt quirks an eyebrow. "How old do you think I am?"

"I dunno." I shrug. "Twenty-five?"

Kurt shakes hs head. "Thirty-two."

My jaw drops and I didn't even know that was possible in real life. Or death. Whatever. "But that's a year older than I am!"

"I don't look it, do I?" Kurt asks, grinning. "It's my turn. Occupation?"

I frown. "Well, that's boring."

"So was your question."

"Touché." I sigh. "I am – or was, I guess – an accountant for an environmental law firm."

"That's sounds… interesting?"

I laugh. "Not really. If my job had been even remotely interesting, I think I would have thought twice about killing myself."

An awkward silence follows my statement. Even the rustle of our clothes seems to quiet.

"Anyway," I say and clear my throat, "what about you? What was your job?"

"I was a designer," Kurt replies. He tugs at the lapels of his jacket. "Did this myself, actually."

I whistle. "Nice."

Kurt smiles wistfully and tucks his hands in his pockets. I have to admit I'm a little jealous. I'd always followed my father's plans for my future rather than my own, which was how I got into the _respectable_ career of accounting. Meeting someone like Kurt, who had the guts to follow his own convictions and pursue the career he wanted… and who is no longer following me.

I turn around. Kurt is standing still, staring at something in his right hand. "Kurt?"

"I'd forgotten," he mutters. He looks up at me and shows me the object he's holding – a small, golden pocket watch. "I'd forgotten I had this."

Even from where I'm standing, I can hear it ticking.

* * *

><p>It's amazing how grand such tiny little progress as being able to tell the time again feels like. Kurt and I are quick to work out a plan for keeping track of the time. We take turns looking at the watch and every twelve hours, we mark it. Unfortunately, writing supplies are of rather short supply out here. I suggest, more jokingly than anything, that we carve it into our skin seeing as how neither of us can feel pain. That plan is promptly shot when Kurt takes it at face value and tries cutting a mark into his palm. It immediately heals, without a trace.<p>

The next idea is a doable one, if a little gruesome. We write down each mark with my blood, which is apparently of endless supply, onto the back of my shirt.

It occurs to me, and probably the both of us, that this is all rather pointless. What good is being able to tell the time going to be if we're just going to spend the rest of eternity stuck out here anyway?

But the rest of eternity is a bit impossible for either of us to wrap our heads around so we'll keep hoping for a way out for now. It's really all we can do.

* * *

><p>"Is it my turn to hold the watch yet?"<p>

"It's only been five hours, Blaine."

"Oh."

* * *

><p>"How about now?"<p>

"Seven hours."

"Damn."

* * *

><p>"Now?"<p>

"Seven-and-a-half, Blaine."

"You've got to be kidding me."

* * *

><p>"It has to have been twelve hours now."<p>

"Goddammit Blaine, I will stuff this watch down your throat if I have to."

"But then we won't be able to tell the time."

"Believe me, that's the only thing that's stopping me."

* * *

><p>Eventually, the full twelve hours pass and after that the time seems to pass much faster. Kurt and I keep walking for longer and longer, with fewer and fewer breaks. The silence starts to bother me less, since I've started having the ticking watch to focus on. We do still talk and I get to know a lot about Kurt.<p>

The first day I learn that's he's a Gemini and that before he moved to New York for college, he lived in Lima, Ohio. The second day, I learn about his friends, most notably two girls named Rachel and Mercedes. The third day, we walk in silence. The fourth day, I start talking about myself and I learn that Kurt is an excellent listener. The fifth day, we do nothing but tell each other terrible jokes. We laugh until we can barely breathe, not that we need to.

The second week, things get personal. Kurt tells me how hard high school was for him, being the only out gay kid for the majority of it. I tell him what happened after the infamous Sadie Hawkins dance and about my subsequent transfer to Dalton. We learn that we competed against each other at show choir competitions, three times. I can't help but feel cheated that we didn't get to know each other then, rather than now.

At the beginning of the third week, we take our first break in a while. We lie down in the sand, close our eyes and play dead for what feels like days. The silence feels almost oppressive. When I finally try to open my eyes again, my eyelids feel so heavy it takes three attempts.

Then I sit up and stare at Kurt's still face for what feels like another few days. He's a lot more patient than I am. Finally, I can't stand it anymore and kiss him just like last time, to see if I can get him to wake up. It feels like nothing but maybe that's because Kurt doesn't respond.

I spend another three days staring at him until he finally opens his eyes. I'd forgotten how beautiful they were.

I think I might be falling in love with him.

I think I might also be going mad.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Wow, that was a quick update. Go me! Alright, so those warnings regarding the explicit violence and sexual content? Are about this chapter. I recommend now listening to the song this story was named after, Viðrar vel til loftárása by Sigur Rós. And on a completely related note, go vote in the poll on my profile page!

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><p><em>Life in the desert  Panic_

Two weeks later, something finally happens.

We've been walking without rest for almost a week. Neither of us has been talking much. It feels like we're finally giving up hope, and the thought that there may just be no way out of here, not even death, seems more and more likely.

Then we walk over a dune and we spot her.

A red-headed woman lying in the sand.

Kurt and I share a glance and then we're both off running. I don't even know why – this woman probably knows exactly as little as we do, especially considering that she's still here. But then again, who cares? It's another human being. That means that there might be even more. That Kurt and I aren't anomalies. That all we need to do is keep walking long enough and we might stumble upon a whole colony.

It's a spark of hope, no matter how faint.

Kurt reaches her first (the advantage of having longer legs, I guess) and bends down over her.

"She's not breathing," he reports, but we both know that means nothing.

I reach them and squat down next to Kurt. The woman looks younger than either of us – I'd even say it was a stretch to call her a woman. She looks to be in her teens. Her neck is bruised and her lips, like Kurt's, are blue. I put the back of my hand against her cheek and slap it lightly, but she doesn't respond.

"Maybe she really is dead," I mutter and I cannot keep the envy out of my voice.

Kurt shakes his head. "She can't be."

My eyes trail down her body. She's half-way buried in the sand, but it doesn't look like someone did it on purpose. It looks more like she's been sinking into the ground. I frown. How long could she have been here?

Kurt slaps her again, much harder than I had. At my shocked expression he scoffs. "Neither of _us_ can feel pain. Why should she?"

I can't argue. I pick up her arm, which hangs limp in my grip. I check her pulse. Nothing, of course.

Kurt grabs the girl by the shoulders and pulls her up into a sitting position. He shakes her once, twice, but her head just lolls lifelessly to the side.

"I don't think she's going to wake up," I say quietly.

Kurt shakes her again, much more forcefully. When she still doesn't respond, he drops her carelessly back onto the ground.

"Careful," I chastise.

Kurt turns back towards me, a wild look in his eyes. "What? Am I not showing enough respect for the dead? In case you forgot, we _are the fucking dead_! What does it matter what we do?"

He stands up and storms off, and I stumble hurriedly to my feet to follow him. "Kurt, wait!"

"What for?" He calls back. "It's not like I've got anywhere to go!"

I finally reach him and grab him by the shoulder in order to get him to slow down, but Kurt twirls around and slaps my hand away.

"Don't fucking touch me," he hisses. "How can you be so calm?"

I open my mouth and close it helplessly. "I- it's not hopeless, Kurt. We couldn't get her to respond but there might be other people out here-"

"Might be." Kurt laughs and the hollow sound of it sends chills down my spine. "So what if there are? We're not going to get out of here, anyway. Don't you realize what's happened? I was wrong. God exists and he's either a cruel bastard or he's got a sick sense of humor. Either way, he sent us here and we're not ever going to get out." He laughs again. "Do you see? This is our penance for our moments of weakness and we're going to pay for them _for the rest of eternity_."

"You don't believe that," I say, because it's all I can say. I reach out for Kurt, needing to comfort him in some way, but he flinches away from my touch.

"I told you not to touch me," he growls.

And then he punches me.

I reel backwards from the force. My hand flies instinctively to my face and despite the fact that I haven't felt pain since I first woke up in the desert, I'm honestly surprised that I'm not hurt. Mostly though, I'm surprised that Kurt_punched me in the face_.

"You punched me," I gasp.

"What, did it hurt?" Kurt asks mockingly.

I don't know what it is, the tone of his voice or the expression on his face or just the fact that we've been out here for weeks with little to no progress, but something inside me snaps at Kurt's words. I clench my right hand and punch him back in the cheek. Kurt goes flying to the ground, but he's quick to roll up on his feet again and launches himself at me.

We go tumbling down together, pulling and kicking. I grab Kurt by his perfectly coiffed hair and pull as hard as I can. Kurt, in retaliation, bites my hand, leaving a bloody set of marks in it. Then he punches me in the stomach. I grab his arm and twist it until I can feel it slip out of its socket. Kurt kicks me in the crotch and I grab a fistful of sand and throw it into his eyes. He headbutts me and I bite him in the chin.

It's strange feeling teeth sink into my skin or a kick hit my shin and not having it hurt. It just serves to make me even angrier. I take it out on Kurt and he takes it out on me, and we use our fists and feet and teeth to deal to each other what should be devastating blows. Eventually, we just start rolling on the ground, too angry to even know what we're doing. This isn't like any fight I've ever been in before. I don't even feel remotely human anymore, I feel like a trapped animal lashing out at the nearest target.

I somehow end up on top of Kurt, restraining both of his arms by his wrists. He rears his head up and bites my earlobe. I try to pull away and he grinds his teeth until he manages to tear my earlobe clean off. He spits it on the ground with a vicious smirk.

In response, I kiss him once again. This time, Kurt kisses me back, his tongue tangling with mine. If I'd have had enough presence of mind, I probably would have expected him to taste like blood, but he doesn't. He doesn't taste like anything. He's just there, below me, neither warm nor cold, no sensation to indicate that either of us is alive. I break the kiss and start biting and licking my way down his neck. His skin feels soft but cool, and there's no pulse beneath my tongue.

I finally let go of his hands and they immediately start working on the buttons of my shirt, undoing them one by one. His hands graze my skin and it should feel good, so good, but it doesn't. I can't feel pleasure any more than I can feel pain.

One of Kurt's hands dips under the hem of my pants, rubbing me through my underwear. I groan but it's out of frustration more than anything else and Kurt seems to realize it, because he pulls his hand away.

"Shit," he mutters.

I sigh and roll away to lie down next to Kurt.

"Can't get it up either, huh?" I ask sardonically.

Kurt snorts. "Nope."

* * *

><p>"I didn't write a suicide note," I say.<p>

We've been lying on the ground for a long while, neither of us saying a word. My voice sounds surprisingly rough.

"Why not?" Kurt asks.

"I forgot." I grimace. "And now people are probably going to think I killed myself because my apartment got broken into."

"Why did you kill yourself?"

"Because my apartment got broken into. Among other things." I sigh and turn onto my side, towards Kurt. He still looks eerily pale and with his now torn clothes and the dried up blood on them, he kind of looks like a zombie. "It'd been a while since I had anything to live for. When I came home from a long, exhausting day of working at a job I hated and found my laptop missing… I guess it was the straw that broke the camel's back."

Kurt hums. "I didn't write a note either. Didn't think to write one. I just came home from my father's funeral and swallowed a bunch of pills. I didn't even have time to regret it before I lost consciousness."

"That sucks."

We fall silent again.

"I'm sorry I bit off your earlobe," Kurt says.

I bring my hand up to my ear. "It's fine. The wound's healed." The earlobe hasn't grown back though, but I don't need to mention that. "I'm sorry for pulling your arm out of its socket."

Kurt smiles. "It's fine," he echoes, "you can help me fix it later."

Neither of us brings up the obvious – why we got into the fight in the first place. I suppose we'll get going again eventually, to search for more people or answers. I can't get myself to feel particularly hopeful about what we'll find.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Finally, it's done. Sorry for the wait, but I spent most of Easter vacation in Paris without a computer. For this last part, I recommend listening to Sæglópur by, you guessed it, Sigur Rós. And once again, there's a poll on my profile page that I'd love for y'all to vote in :)

* * *

><p><em>Here is how it ends<em>

_(again)_

We stop keeping track of the time after that. The watch sits in Kurt's pocket, still ticking, the only thing breaking the silence, but neither of us thinks to look at it. We just keep walking.

I'm so tired. Not physically, of course, but in every other way. I drag my feet on the ground and my arms hang limply at my side. I want to give up. Why haven't I already?

Right. Because it has no meaning here, no more than anything else. Whether I keep walking or lie down on the ground until I start sinking into it, it doesn't matter. I was stupid to ever hope for anything else.

Kurt doesn't seem to share my pessimism. He looks so determined now, his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes staring forwards, into the horizon. At one point, when I start slowing down, he grabs my hand and leads me so that I don't fall behind. I notice that he doesn't let go.

I never thought I could come to hate the sight of the blue sky. Then again, I never thought that I'd be looking up at it without a trace of the sun, or the moon, or the stars. It's so empty out here.

"Are we just going to keep walking?" I ask sometime.

"For now," Kurt replies. "Hopefully, until we find something."

Hopefully. I want to cry. What hope is there in hell?

We actually do stumble upon a colony.

Kurt is the first to spot it and he points it out to me. Neither of us thinks to start running this time, instead, we tighten our hold on each other's hands.

It's not the traditional kind of colony. There are no buildings, not even tents. There's no need for shelter out here. Instead, it's a large group of people, probably a few dozen, standing and sitting around. I can hear them talking. I can even hear them singing and laughing.

When we get a little bit closer, one of them sees us and starts walking to meet us halfway. It's an older woman. She smiles warmly at us in greeting.

"Welcome, strangers," she says in a lilting voice. She's definitely not American.

"Where are we?" Kurt blurts out.

The woman laughs. "Such impatience. Don't you have plenty of time?"

"I don't care about time," Kurt says. "I just want to know where we are."

"Well, don't we all," the woman sighs.

My heart drops. "You mean you don't know?"

"How could I?" She asks. "I came here the same as you. We all did." She beckons us to follow her. "Come. Sit. We will talk. I am Margrit, by the way."

With nothing else to do, we comply. Margrit leads us to a small circle of people. Some of them glance up at us when we arrive with uninterested expressions, but most of them can't even be bothered to do that.

"These two young men just found their way here," Margrit says, "and they would like to know where they are."

One of the people in the circle, a stout, dark-eyed man, snorts. "As if we know any better?"

"Hush, David," Margrit admonishes. "They had every right to ask."

"It's Limbo," croaks a gaunt-faced woman, whose wrists are bleeding the same as mine. "It's our punishment for throwing away something sacred."

"We don't know that," another woman dispels gently.

"Well, what else could it be?" Asks the dark-eyed man.

"Limbo's supposed to be forever, right?" A young man points out. "But we all know that this place isn't."

Kurt and I gasp almost simultaneously. Not forever?

The gaunt-faced woman scoffs. "Limbo isn't supposed to be _anything_."

"So there is a way out of here?" Kurt interrupts.

The people in the circle exchange looks.

"There is," Margrit eventually says. "But you must wait."

"Wait," Kurt repeats. "For how long?"

"Years." Margrit shrugs. "At least a couple hundred, I am afraid. We know of no one who has disappeared after a shorter stay than that. But it varies."

I swallow, suddenly inexplicably dry-mouthed. "How long could a person stay here?"

"We don't know." Margrit wrings her hands nervously. "The person who's been here the longest, who's still here, is at least five thousand years old."

* * *

><p>I literally run away after Margrit's declaration. I don't go too far, though. It's no use fleeing here; no matter how long you keep going, you'll end up essentially where you started.<p>

"Going somewhere?"

Of course Kurt would come after me. I can't decide whether I love or hate him for it.

"You know I can't," I reply bitterly.

"Why are you so upset?" Kurt asks. "We've finally found what we were looking for. A way out."

"We know of it," I correct, turning to face him. "But we're still stuck here for God knows how long."

"It's still better than forever."

"Is it?"

I bite my tongue but the words are already out. Kurt frowns and crosses his arms. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." I scratch the back of my head. "I just… when it was forever, at least we knew where we stood. We had nothing to gain but nothing to lose either."

"I don't understand," Kurt admits. "Are you saying you preferred walking through the desert for all eternity?"

"I'm saying that we're still going to be stuck here for another few hundred years, at least," I answer. "I'm saying that even when we eventually do move on, we have no idea what's waiting for us." I throw my hands up. "I'm saying that I'd lost all hope and I'm terrified of losing it again."

Kurt steps closer and grabs my hand. I let my head fall onto his shoulder and something horrifyingly selfish comes to my mind.

"What if you go first?" I mutter into his neck.

Kurt lays a hand on my head. "I won't."

"You might," I argue. "You might move on after two hundred years and I might be stuck here for five thousand years."

"And vice versa," Kurt continues. "We can't do anything about it, so we shouldn't worry. Besides, there are other people here than me to keep you company."

"I don't want other people," I stubbornly insist. "They're not you. They've never kneed me in the stomach for kissing them or bitten off my earlobe in a fit of panic."

Kurt snorts. "How is that a bad thing?"

"Because." I nuzzle into his designer jacket and inhale. If I focus, I can almost imagine what he might smell like. "I love you, you know."

"I love you, too," Kurt replies and although he sounds calm, I can feel the tremors running through his body. He's either very excited or very scared. Possibly both.

"Do we have to go back to the others?"

"No." Kurt gently pulls at my hand, motioning for us to sit down in the sand. I follow him, raising my head to look him in the eye. "We don't have to move ever again if we don't want to."

"Like the red-headed girl?"

"And many others before her, I'm sure."

I smile. "I'd like that."

So we lay down, our bodies pressed together from head to toe. Kurt wraps an arm around my neck and I rest my hand on his waist. He leans momentarily forward and presses one chaste kiss to my lips. For one fleeting moment, I feel something stirring in my chest but it's gone before I realize it.

Maybe I can allow myself to hope.

_Fin_


End file.
